Sunlight

Lupin awoke with a start at the graying light of first dawn, and noted with the faintest astonishment that for the first time in their long acquaintanceship, Lord Grefham slept in her presence. In the half light he appeared eminently calm, but a small furrow still drew between his brows. Lupin reached to touch it, but drew back her hand at the last moment. She gazed at him intently for some time, her expression faintly uncertain, and then moved to peer from the windows.
The carriage was damnably cold and damp, but Lupin remained resolutely alone rather than move towards Lord Grefham’s warmth. He looked so entirely exhausted – so very, very tired. She drew her knees up under her billowing skirts, wrapped the material about her shoulders and contented herself to watch, in a half daze, the burning orb of the sun rise from the East.
It was half an hour or so before Lord Grefham awoke, and reached immediately for her. Her chin rested in the cradle of her crossed arms, and her eyes had half shut; she was startled by his warm touch upon her shoulders, and raised eyes made big with sleeplessness to his. His gray gaze reassured her that he desired her close, however; that it was no trial – and she moved to settle loosely in his embrace. Thus they offered one another comfort in the damp and cold.
When the sun began to light the scrub pines, Lupin gasped inadvertently at the tableau about the swiftly moving car. Everywhere mist wove and sprung, playing with and being turned to a shining curtain by the golden rays of the newly risen sun. Ferns and foliage glistened, sparkling with dew drops, as the herbiage and smallish trees ran past.
A quirk of a smile lit Lord Grefham’s grim mouth. “Like it?”
Lupin turned quickly to face him. “Why?” she asked cautiously.
“For all this is yours – or it will be in but a few hours yet.”
Lord Grefham’s land spanned the Normandy coast from Brest Southward, and some miles inland as well. His chateau lay on a rocky outjutting of land into the sleeve – La Manche – the Channel. His chapel, more importantly, lay just Northward of the estate, cozened on both sides by beautiful granite boulders. The church was made entirely of stone and so ancient as to seem part of the landscape itself.
Lord Grefham, prepared for any contingency, produced from his capacious pocket a special license upon their arrival at the stony path to the chapel.
“You will marry me now, Lupin, will you not?” He asked, very grave.
“You ask this time for love- not duty or pity, my lord?” She returned, not meeting his eyes, her whole being still. She waited patiently for the answer, her spine very straight. He reached for her and enfolding her inexorably, kissed her with a passion, a fervor and tenderness that could not lie. “My clear, “ he addressed her, and her eyes widened a little at this new appellation, “I never knew it possible, this love I feel for you. You have made of me – a soul.”
Lupin looked up at him, startled for a moment. “and you have given me my life, a life I never thought possible.” She replied. “but you know this; if it were a choice between us, I should always choose your life over mine.”
He looked down at her, his eyes cold suddenly. “That is not the wisest choice. But I know it to be true.”
“Yes.” Said Lupin simply, looking at him with a very ancient sadness, but a soft joy, as well – as if she saw farther than he did, somehow.
A swift flew overhead – a gull cried down the waves, and the wind swept Lupin’s skirts into wild, silken, glinting clouds, catching the bright, liquid morning sun.
“I am yours.” Lupin said again quieter, and was swept up once more in Lord Grefham’s embrace.
They entered the dark, cool church slowly, holding to each other’s arms.
Within, all was still, quiet, sanctuary. They trod the uneven stones worn by the passage of time; the ancient bones of the earth polished by the souls spassing over them. Lupin and Lord Grefham moved to the altar, and Lupin knelt quietly for a moment, letting her eyes sweep closed, gently. Without, the sound of the waves crashing to shore pounded, muted by the stones, time, and stillness. But she could feel the reverberations, the heartbeat of the ocean and the world all around her. Lord Grefham watched her gravely, his gray eyes quiet and warm. When she rose, he took her in his arms once more.
“What did you pray for?”
“I did not pray – I hoped,” answered she. “I hoped in my right to live, to fill my life with joy. My right to love you, and to – to…” She looked up at him. He was watching her, as if enrapt, “to spread that joy to all who are within our sphere.” She reached up to touch the crease that had grown between his brows over the past month, and this time her hand did not pull back, though it faltered for a moment.
“There has been too much unhappiness. Too very much.” His arms were encircling her, and she rested back into their cradle as she gazed up at him.
“I do not want to share you,” he said, half smiling – but his eyes were in earnest.
“You will not have to,” she replied, her eyes lighting with joy and laughter at the surprise of it. “You are my lord – my lord Grefham.”
And so they were married. In the presence of three witnesses of the estate, and before the rather wild-looking priest, in a dim, ancient stone church, lighted by the flames of two enormous wax candles set upon the altar. The sun lit the stained glass, almost pagan in its design, like great lanterns, and Lupin watched with wonder and awe as Lord Grefham added the ruby ring once more to her hand. She would not give it up so easily this time.
There were no bells to toll when the master of the estate and his young bride exited the scarred oak doors of the church; the crashing of the waves and the singing of the wind rang through Lupin as bells never could.
Lord Grefham held her close and would not let her stray from his side. The estate men, unsure of their place, congratulated Lord Grefham gruffly, abased themselves to the mistress and ran to the house to spread the news. Lupin looked up at Lord Grefham as if she were seeing him for the first time – she studied every feature of his face, as if to fix it in her memory completely. The sunlight lit the scape with gold, but cast each shadow into high relief.

She suddenly went white. “Let me sit for a moment,” she managed, and drifted towards the ground. He caught her and lowered her surely to the dry sea-coast grass, warmed by the morning sun.